Page 42 of Enzo

“You should meet my brother Matteo.”

“Oh?” She sounds like she's waiting to hear more, but I don't want to talk about my brothers, or anything related to back home. I want to stay here, in this moment.

Soon we arrive at her hotel. From the outside, what I can see in the dimly lit street, it looks a little rundown.

“Well ... goodbye,” she says, albeit a little reluctantly. She moves towards me and drops a gentle kiss on my cheek. “This was a magical evening. One I’ll never forget. Thank you.”

Just friends.

That’s what she said.

“Thank you.” I try to hold the image of her in my head.

“It suits you.” She opens the front door. I sigh in relief. At least this is one layer of safety.

She steps inside, illuminated slightly by the dingy light hanging above her.

“Are you on the FBI's Most Wanted list, or something?”

I frown.

“We've spent the evening together. We've danced together and yet I have no idea what you look like.”

I have a feeling that she wants me to remove my mask, and suddenly, I want to. I put my hands behind my head and begin to untie the ribbons.

Molly’s eyes widen as I remove it, leaving it dangling from my hand. Her eyes twinkle in the dim light and go over my face slowly, like she's taking her time to examine every inch of my face.

“I'm so glad you took it off. I feel like you often don't. Metaphorically speaking.”

Metaphorically speaking.

What is she, psychic?

The dingy little light outside hotel door hangs above us.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I ask, deflecting the conversation.

She gives a soft laugh, then puts out her hand for my mask. “It's safe. The owners are a lovely middle-aged couple.”

She would know. I expect she's seen their family photo albums. Has breakfast with them and has promised to leave them a glowing review.

“This is beautiful.” Her fingers go over the tiny beads.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “What time is your flight?” I ask, praying that it’s late in the evening.

“At six in the morning.”

I wince. “Ouch.” And then I have an idea. A wish. “You might miss it. Imagine if you overslept?”

She side-eyes me suspiciously. “I need to be back. My children will be expecting me.”

“Your children.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nod. “I do.” I've become acquainted with Molly-speak.

Neither of us makes a move to leave. This night is over. There is no other moment to squeeze out, or delay. Nothing that can be done.